Therapeutic
by Necrofuckup
Summary: Dib in Therapy.


**Therapeutic**

**By**

**Necrofuckup**

1.

"How are you today, Dib?" asked Mr. Sagoe, a short, stocky black man, whose broad nose Dib usually focused on when not paying attention. He wore a dark blue blazer with shiny black shoes and red tie, and always seemed to be smiling, even when he was not. He was a therapist, one of many Dib had gone through, to the thin pale boy they all looked the same, whatever the race or colour of their skin. Other therapists came and went, diagnosing Dib with depression and prescribing pills, but Mr. Sagoe, first name Phillip, the fourth therapist that was asked to help Dib, decided that what was needed for Dib was to talk. Even if it was the kind of casual talk you get with that of the guy next to you while you wait for the bus, Mr. Sagoe thought this would be better for Dib. Problem was, Dib wouldn't talk. His father wanted to know why one day Dib had stopped talking and started spending all his time in his room, not going to school and running off in the middle of the night, only to return in the mornings, tired and cold.

The first session was the hardest. Dib sat there, in a chair seemingly three times bigger than he was, hugging his knees, eyes glistening, his scythe shaped hair limp and unclean. Mr. Sagoe introduced himself as he sat down in a chair opposite, smiling.

"Hello, my name is Phillip Sagoe" he said in a quarter American, three quarters Caribbean accent, that at first Dib had trouble understanding.

There was a long silence, where Dib said and did nothing except stare at this new therapist. Mr. Sagoe smiled a little, held out his hand as if for Dib to shake it, and after a few seconds withdrew it, still smiling.

"I understand you have isolated yourself from…everyone?"

Dib had been asked this three times before, but never in such a courteous manner, as if Dib was actually some kind of human who deserved compassion rather than pills to make everything right again. Dib also liked the fact that this Mr Sagoe let him know his first name. Dib nodded his head by the most minuscule amount, but that was enough to say 'yes' to the therapist.

Dib anticipated the next question "Why?" but instead what Mr. Sagoe said next startled Dib.

"The weathers nice isn't it? Very sunny, but with just enough of a breeze to make a nice warm day, good for picnics I find myself."

Dib opened his mouth, which Mr. Sagoe couldn't see due to Dib's knees, and looked perplexed. Mr. Sagoe let out a chuckle. Then there was more silence as Mr. Sagoe wrote a little on his clipboard. Dib looked outside, through the window and was met with rain and a slab of grey.

Dib said, in a whisper "….But it's raining"

Mr. Sagoe smiled and without looking up said, in a caring, fatherly way, "yes it is, isn't it? But at least you _can_ talk."

Dib felt cheated, humiliated, tricked and embarrassed. He could feel the blood on his cheeks swell, and yet, he did not feel angry. He liked this man, the way he talked to him made him feel wanted, not outcast. Until…..

"Can I tell you what I think, Dib?"

Dib knew this couldn't last. This therapist was tricking him, he knew it, he had to be, that's what all therapists do! Get the information and get paid, they'll do anything to get what they want, this one is no exception, it's all just a trick. Now, he'll say what he really thinks of me and just like the rest dismiss me and never know why I'm really here.

Dib looked down and rest his forehead on his knees, and said, slightly angrily or sulkily "Go on then. Tell me."

"I think you're a waste of space that no-one wants around and wishes was dead! Here, take this knife and do everyone a favour!" Was what Dib expected to hear.

Instead, and shockingly to Dib, he heard; "I think you need someone to talk to."

After that first session Dib wasn't noticeably better, and he still stayed in his room not doing anything, but a seed of hope began to grow, that there was someone who might actually be able to help him and understand what had happened.

2.

On his eleventh weekly visit, Dib _had_ visibly improved, he wasn't as pale anymore and his hair wasn't the greasy tangled mess of midnight black that it had been some weeks before. However, he still hadn't gone back to skool yet and still nobody knew what had kick started this whole ordeal, something Mr. Sagoe hoped Dib had enough trust in him to tell him this visit. He had asked before, to know why, but it instantly changed Dib, almost completely reversing his improvement, and could have been worse if the therapist hadn't apologised so many times.

Dib sat down on that same large cushioned chair, no longer hunched up in the protective knee hugging position he had done so before.

"How are you today, Dib?"

Dib spoke only in this room, only to Phillip. "I'm fine." Was what Dib _always_ said and Mr. Sagoe's response was _always_ "really?"

Dib stared at the wall above Mr. Sagoe's head."….The nightmares only get worse …it keeps replaying in my head and so I keep banging against the walls and I fall onto the floor and wake,… G-g-g-gaz-z… up-"

Gaz was not a happy girl at the best of times. And all this attention to Dib made her angry. Violent angry. Dib's nightmares kept waking her up, so she punched and kicked him to consciousness, and afterwards she would continue to punch and kick in jealousy and teary eyed rage, which left Dib covered in bruises, and stuttering whenever he tried to say her name. He didn't like talking about it, even with Phillip.

"I think it would be a good idea if we invited you sister here-" Dib visibly _freaked_. His eyes shot open, tears began to form, his breath became rapid and shallow and his fists clenched so hard it hurt. Mr. Sagoe noticed this and sighed.

"I'm sorry Dib." An apology to Dib felt like a loving hug from a parent, most likely because he never received them from his own. "But this problem you have with your sister…is …worrying. Perhaps…if you could…talk about the main obstacle here we could also progress to other problems?"

For a long time there was silence. Rain lashed on the window and the wind howled. Hot tears fell from Dib's hung head onto his glasses, and sled onto his lap. His teeth were clenched. An inner monologue ran in circles around his mind.

'You've got to tell him he's okay you can tell him the truth, no I can't I can't tell anyone no-one will understand It'll be just like before everyone thinking I'm crazy No I won't You'll be fine I won't You will You can trust him he'll understand you didn't do anything wrong It's my fault he's… he's he's he's-

"Dead!" Dib choked out, hurting his throat with the force of it. He looked up into the face of Phillip Sagoe, the burning salty tears flooding down his cheeks.

3.

I was chasing him down the street as I always used to, shouting threats at him, screaming how I was going to destroy him and every single one of his kind, how racist it sounds now. He yelled back how normal he was, how he would take revenge for trying to break his normal. He never made much sense. I was so determined to catch him this time, he always managed to get back home, always, no matter how hard I tried to get him, he always got home before I could grab him and cuff him. Be quiet, I needed to cuff him because of what he really was. I won't bother telling you what he really was, you'll say I'm crazy I'm not crazy! I'm NOT!

….

…..

Okay. He was getting away, once again he was faster than me. Evading me each time. My hatred burnt inside me. I couldn't face it again. For one moment I was blinded by it so much I threw the cuffs in my hand so hard they spun so fast and so far they cracked against his ankles and looped themselves. He fell down in pain, it made me so happy I literally jumped for joy. …..

…

But then I noticed he was on the end of the sidewalk when he fell, his head in the road and before I even landed from my jump, a car's wheels….all in slow motion, prolonging my horror…and h-his….the first wheel …ran straight o..ver…on.. in his skull, crack-k-king it-t! His j-jaw flung open teeth and tongue shooting everywhere with blood, his eyes p-popped out, attached by red cord…..brain…spilling…his g-green sk-in ripping up and flailing as it wrapped around the wheel….the car screeched, the back wheel s-smearing it all everywhere….smearing him all over the road. I watched it. And fell to my knees. Why wasn't I happy. For days I should have celebrated. I should have been happy the there was no longer a threat to me, my family that hates me -they DO- and the planet. But I wasn't. It was me who killed him, how I planned sort of from the beginning. But it was just torture. Why wasn't I overjoyed?…

…

….

…..

That day, when I walked home, I was in a waking coma, I looked but didn't see and I heard nothing but muffled noises. I opened the front door and closed it, I couldn't hear it but it must have made a noise because G-gg-g-her head turned and looked at me. She looked genuinely concerned. I thought briefly that maybe she cared why I was so freaked. She jumped off the coach and ran to me, her mouth was moving but I couldn't make anything out, she kept saying something, but I just didn't understand, it felt like my ears were submerged in blood and the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat, treacherous and mocking, each beat reminding me of what I did. I thought she cared for me for some reason and I tried to hug her, more for myself, I wanted some comfort, but she pushed me back onto the door and slapped me. All of a sudden, with a rush, I fell back into reality and finally heard what she was saying. She didn't care about me at all. She thought that I was so freaked because something had happened to Dad. I told her what did happen and she punched me in the gut. I bent over double and fell to the floor. She told me that if I ever scare her like that again she'd kill me. I never knew she cared so much for dad.

…..

Eventually what…was l-left of….him..was buried as a J-john Doe. That hurt so much. They never found out what he truly was. I don't know why. Like I said, I should be so happy. But I'm not. Why not? I don't know……After a week or so every night I stayed at his grave. I scratched his name onto the stone. I stayed there in the rain and cold and wind.

Oh God….

Fuck…

I hate this…

4.

Mr. Sagoe watched as Dib explained his ordeal. Every sentence the boy choked out through the tears, more and more questions were raised in his mind. He tried to take notes at the beginning but stopped and focused on listening to this strange tale. When Dib finished they both sat in near silence, Dib's racking sobs breaking the quiet in random bursts. He didn't know how to question the boy next. He wanted to ask if he was telling the truth, if there really was this boy with green skin, was it all in his mind? Did he do it for attention or is there some sort of psychosis? If it were real, what was this conflict between the two boys, why was Dib trying to cuff him, to protect the planet? What was the deal about this other boy? If this were true, then Dib really was responsible for the death of this boy…but…then wouldn't there be a police investigation? Wouldn't someone care who killed another boy, this other boy's parents? How do I ask these things without Dib thinking that I think he's crazy? It would fuel his paranoia.

Eventually, Mr. Sagoe decided he needed more time to consider things.

"Dib. Go home. I need to…think things out."

Dib looked up at him. This was the firmest he had ever been spoken to by Phillip, so he did as he was told.

5.

1 week later Dib was once again sitting in that big comfy chair. He looked nervous, continually looking down at the grey carpeted floor between himself and his therapist.

Mr Sagoe didn't know what to say first, he had so much to ask, to understand. So he started how they normally did.

"Dib? How are you today?"

Contradicting their previous conversation trend, Dib said, emotionlessly "……I'm sorry I lied…"

Mr. Sagoe, no longer smiling his usual casual smile he always smiled, stared at Dib, into Dib's glasses encased amber eyes, for an amount of time and finally, sighing, said "I know we cut your last session short last week, but I needed the time to gather my thoughts-"

"I know" Dib interrupted.

"And I needed to perform some additional research, after hours so to speak."

"Yes?" Dib leaned forward, as if eagerly awaiting some kind of vital information.

Mr. Sagoe leaned forward too, as if _giving_ some kind of vital information.

"Not only did I ask the police about what you told me, I asked hospitals and morgues too, and they have no files or records about the horrible death of a green skinned boy, I even looked in cemeteries for a defaced John Doe gravestone. Nothing. But I did check your Skool. There have been scores of complaints about you, from classmates…teachers… and more specifically, a boy named Zim with a skin condition" Dib raised an eyebrow in inquisition. "So my question is this. Why make it all up? Why stop going to Skool, become a voluntary mute and make up and act out such an elaborate story? What can you gain?"

Dib looked down and for a few seconds did nothing. Mr. Sagoe trembled in anticipation, rather guiltily his curiosity heightening every second Dib did nothing. Eventually Dib looked up with a blank look on his face and a faraway sheen in his eyes, and said "Isn't there a category I fall under here. Something you can classify me? So you can put me away, drug me up and make it all right again?"

Mr. Sagoe's brows furrowed and confusion covered his portly face.

"There are plenty of things I could call you, give you a label and feed you pills to mask what you feel. I've told you the way I heal my patients. I need you to tell me what is wrong. Why did you make up all this? I need no more lies. I need the truth from you Dib, otherwise you won't get better. Lies just engulf you like flames. Small lies burn but bigger ones and more of them will kill you."

"Kill you…" Dib echoed as if half asleep.

"Dib…tell me what's wrong in your life."

Dib seemed all at once to let go of some kind of huge burden and immediately fell into a sudden flood of tears and mournful moans. He held his head in his arms. Mr. Sagoe did not know what to do. Was this too part of the act or was it genuine? The only way was to ask.

"Dib. Is this real or part of this story you fabricated? It's important!"

Dib tried to answer but tears and grief stopped him. Eventually he choked out "R- R- R-e-"

"Okay, I understand" Mr. Sagoe said placing his hands on the boy's racking shoulders trying to calm him down.

A few minutes and a number of tear soaked tissues later, Dib sat, once again like those weeks earlier, hugging his knees, glassy eyed and dull.

6.

I'm an outcast. Nobody likes me. I haven't _ever_ had a single friend. A while ago I was the boy who spouted paranormal beliefs at everyone, convinced that He genuinely was an alien. One day, I just gave up. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't keep chasing, I couldn't keep fighting and I couldn't defend those people at skool any longer, if he wanted to kill or enslave them all, let him. I wouldn't stand in his way. So I stayed at home. You know it took three weeks for the skool to bother getting in touch with my father about my absence, and a further two for him to fit into his schedule a talk with me. Via a floating TV screen no less. I didn't say a word. I saw a side of my father I've never seen before. Anger. He hasn't spoken to me since. You know how I got here every week? I walked. On my own. I thought about suicide so many times, but never went through with it. I don't know why. I hoped some kind of therapy would help. Hoped I could still have a life somehow, heh, that is if He doesn't actually destroy us all. …..Until I met you, I have never spoken this much in my entire life. You wanted to know why I was mute, why I seemed so disturbed. You offered hope and compassion and you _wanted_ to talk to _me_! You actually wanted to help me and talk to me and you were always there smiling. Always there. All week I would wait and count down days, hours and minutes until I could come back. And after all the friendship you offered, I gave you some insane story I couldn't back up with any facts at all. I knew afterwards you'd find out and all this hope would end! I'm so stupid I don't know why I told you such a story. I'm such an idiot. I'm such an idiot….

…I'm such an idiot….

7.

"I'm such an idiot…" Dib once again broke into tears, his eyes stinging, red and sore from the tears. Phillip knelt down next to him and embraced the lonely, misunderstood and desperate child in his arms. Dib clung to him, wanting this therapist to be the mother and father he'd never had. Phillip held him close and they stayed that way long past Dib's time was over.

Phillip Sagoe returned home, he met his two children, one five years old the other ten, with bigger hugs than normal and entered the living room where his wife was not watching TV, instead reading a book. He sat down next to her and kissed her.

"How was your day?" She asked, smiling despite his slightly later return from work.

"……." He tried to speak but found it hard. Dib's ordeal had rubbed on him. He wanted to tell his wife everything, he knew he shouldn't, but he had to. Something unprofessional, but human, compelled him to tell her about that poor boy.

"…..I've been seeing a patient for…many weeks now…and today I have found out more about him than in any of the previous weeks….his life…it makes me angry that his family can be that way…." His wife gained interest. She put a bookmark in her book and put it down on the side and listened intently.

"What's wrong with this boy?"

"What isn't wrong with him? He needs someone to truly care for him. Right now, nobody does. He has no mother and virtually no father, his sister beats him and he doesn't have a single friend his own age. Even worse is that he sports a paranoid delusion that a boy with a skin condition is actually an alien bent on destroying and enslaving the earth…." His wife let out a titter, to which he gave her a solemn look. She stopped immediately.

"I'm the only one" he continued "That has ever been a friend in his entire life.But what's really depressing is I was just doing what I am paid to do. _Today_ he's my patient and _tomorrow_ it will be someone else…"

----

The End.

AN: Does Dib go on and in effect become healed with the help of Mr. Sagoe? Or does he not turn up in next week's session, or any other for that matter. There won't be a continuation of this fiction, so you can decide which you like better. Happy or Sad ending.

AN2: Yeah, yeah, I know _another_ Dib angsty therapist fic…get over it.


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